


There Is a Song Beneath the Song

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-15
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Santana and Finn have sex and eat pancakes, but are not dating (until they are)</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Is a Song Beneath the Song

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through 2x01

_one_

Rachel breaks up with him the summer after junior year for some reason he doesn't fully understand. It has something to do with leading man material and applying to colleges and some words he's never heard before and he's mostly confused, but when a box of his stuff arrives on his door - his letter jacket and some sweatshirts Rachel had stolen - he gets the general idea. 

That weekend Puck throws a party and Finn drinks a little more than he normally does. He's not a  _huge_  drinker, but he likes to have fun and his large size affords him the freedom of keeping up with some of the heavier drinkers without getting completely wasted. So it takes a little more than normal to get buzzed the way he wants to. Puck helps him, probably because the guy's practically falling over himself to get back in Finn's good graces, and pouring alcohol down someone's throat is kind of Puck's specialty. 

Finn's having a pretty good time. He's doing a good job of not thinking about how Rachel left him and about how Quinn is on the other side of the room, beaming up at Sam Evans, and somewhere between deciding if he wants another drink or not, Santana Lopez falls right into his lap. Like literally, she falls into his lap, pushing him back into the couch as she  _giggles_. Maybe Finn's drunker than he thought because seriously Santana doesn't do things like fall over or giggle or go anywhere near Finn unless she needs something. Like his virginity.

And yet, his arms are full of the girl, and thank God he had already finished his drink or they'd both be wearing Captain Morgan's and Coke all over their clothes. 

"Finn Hudson," Santana breathes, smiling at him as she remains perched on his lap. 

"Hello," he replies, eyes searching the room to see who exactly is playing a joke on him. No one is looking over here though; Sam and Quinn are still off in their own little world, Brittany is dancing furiously with Mike and Matt on the dance floor, and Puck is nowhere to be found. 

"I hear your dwarf left you." 

It stings a little, but the pain is dulled by alcohol and the hot girl on his lap, and even though Santana kind of scares the shit out of him half the time and frustrates him the other half, he's enjoying the way she feels against his thighs. Her hands are warm where they're pressed against his chest and she's eying him like they're about to have a really good time. 

"Rachel," he corrects because yeah it kind of sucks that she dumped him or whatever, but he still kind of loved her once upon a time. A part of him still does. 

Santana rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Let's go have rebound sex." 

He blinks. "What?" 

"You, me, hot sex in an upstairs bedroom," Santana says slowly, nodding with each word like she's explaining it to a child. 

"Why?" He licks his lips and shifts around still trying to figure out the punchline of this joke. 

"Listen, Hudson," Santana says lowly, bringing their faces closer together. "I'm going to lay it all down for you. You're the only person here that isn't either already getting some or busy on the dance floor." She cocks her head backwards to where Brittany is laughing at some move Matt is trying to execute, alcohol clearly making it a tad more difficult than normal. "And since you're no longer tied down by that loud, annoying ball and chain you used to have…" 

Finn gulps and clenches his fists as he tries to figure out where to put his hands. "Uh…"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Whatever, I'm going upstairs. If you grow some balls in the next five minutes you know where I am." 

His lap goes cold as she gets up and waltzes out of the room, an eyebrow arched in his direction as she rounds the corner towards the staircase. The music pumps around him as he surveys the room and tries to process what just happened. 

No one seems to have noticed the entire episode so Finn's just kind of left there, looking around the room and thinking back over exactly what Santana just offered him. Finn's a cool guy, let's be clear. Once upon a time, before the baby debacle, popularity came relatively easy to him. He was captain of the football team, quarterback, pretty good looking and he was dating the prettiest girl in school. 

That being said, he can't really remember at time when he was sitting at a party with a hot girl waiting in upstairs bedroom after basically telling him she's a sure thing. 

He's pretty sure he's not going up there. Yeah, he's not. No way. He already slept with Santana once and it didn't really do anything good for him, so he's not going to make the same mistake twice. Plus, there's a good chance this actually  _is_  a joke and considering Santana is basically Puck with boobs sometimes, he's pretty sure being the butt of any of her practical jokes is not very fun. Puck's sure aren't. 

But then, fate moves his hand for him because Rachel walks into the party and his heart flips at the sight of her. Surprise forces his eyes wide as he watches her stride into the room like it’s the most normal thing in the universe. Rachel never came to parties unless Finn made her, and even then it was a struggle. Yet here she is, in this really pretty dress that he kind of remembers from months ago, and she's smiling shyly at Quinn and Sam as she walks past them, brown hair falling in waves over her shoulders. 

Their eyes lock as she's halfway across the room and he sees her gasp a little as she recognizes him, but before he can stand up and make his way over to her, before he can even lift his hand up to wave at her, Puck appears out of nowhere and slides his arm around her shoulders. His friend is whispering something into her ear and Finn can see her smile a little at whatever Puck's saying. Finn's fist clenches. 

As Puck leads her off into the kitchen, Rachel gives him this last look that's caught somewhere between an apology and guilt, but Finn's never been good at sorting out emotions. Especially with girls. 

He's still stuck, immobile on the couch, by the time Puck has Rachel in the kitchen, and he can just barely see him mixing her a drink as she smiles up at him. 

It's super  _dumb_. Rachel  _hates_  Puck. She hates him. The only thing Rachel rants about more than how much Puck annoys her is how Finn is slacking in glee. It was one of the two options and it'd always be epic and passionate. 

He pushes up off the couch and he's just near enough to the kitchen to see Puck smirk at something Rachel's said before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead and there's no way Puck's done this to him twice. There's no way. 

His blood runs cold and he considers walking into the kitchen and punching his so-called best friend for the third time in their relationship, but before he can even take a step that direction, Brittany flies into him and he stumbles as he catches her. 

"Whoops!" Her face is flushed and happy and she's laughing as she straightens in Finn's arms and steadies herself. "Sorry, Finn." 

"S'okay, Britt," he says. "No problem." 

"Hey," she says, swaying a little with wide eyes. "Where's Santana?" 

That jerks his thoughts away from his ex-girlfriend in the other room and reminds him of this other girl in another room, waiting for him. It's for all the wrong reasons and a part of him feels like such a shitty guy, but he can't fight his gut on this one. "Upstairs, I was just going that way." 

Brittany smiles like she knows exactly what's up, which is probably true because if Santana knows something, so does Brittany. She hits him a little and wrinkles her nose. "Have fun." 

He laughs. "Yeah." 

She twirls and jumps and in a flash she's on Matt's back, hollering with the music and waving her hands around. Finn shakes his head and turns to leave, chancing one last glance at the kitchen, now devoid of Rachel and Puck, before heading upstairs. 

Three doors down in the upstairs hallway, Finn pushes the bedroom door open to find Santana perched on the bed there, legs crossed as she types furiously into her phone, the glow from the screen the only light in the room. 

"Hey," he greets nervously as he shuts the door behind him and strides across the carpet. 

She snaps her phone shut and sets it on the bedside table, swinging her legs over the side of the bed to stand in front of him. "Well, well. Didn't actually think you'd show." 

He shrugs, trying to focus on the girl in front of him and not the one downstairs that maybe broke a little piece of his heart. It gets easier because Santana is actually really hot and she's staring up at him as her fingers play with the buttons of his shirt, her nails picking at them absently. 

Smirking, Santana pops the bottom one open, then the second, then the third and soon Finn's shirt is hanging open, the white of his undershirt visible in the darkness. 

"So…" Finn shrugs his shoulders around as Santana pushes his shirt off and despite his decisiveness downstairs, he's feeling kind of uncomfortable about the whole thing. He's not really one to have sex with no strings attached or with random girls at parties - and yeah, maybe Santana's not  _totally_  random, but this isn't really his style. He kind of likes to date the girls he fools around with. Santana's kind of always been that one, weird exception. 

"Let's see if we can do this better than the first time," Santana says softly, cutting his words off and fisting her hand in his undershirt to pull him in closer. She presses their lips together and Finn closes his eyes. The one thing he does remember about that time he lost his virginity in a motel room is that Santana is a really good kisser. She does this thing with her tongue and she bites his bottom lip a little in between kisses and he's already half hard just from kissing. 

They're on the bed and half naked before Finn finally says what he meant to say when he walked in the room. "So, like," he starts, pushing up off her a little bit to lock eyes. Her lips are swollen and she's shirtless and he can't deny that she looks really sexy spread out under him like that. His thoughts get kind of jumbled up and he has to shake his head to figure out what he was going to say. 

"Oh my God, you overgrown oaf. Don't ruin this with talking." 

Her hands are in his hair and pulling down, but he resists the tug even though her fingers feel really good against his scalp and he's snug between her hips in a way that makes him want to get her way more naked faster. Judging from the way she's glaring at him right now, he thinks maybe she'd be onboard with that idea. 

"I just," he swallows, feeling like this is important for some reason. He seriously has the worst luck with girls. "What does this mean?" 

Even in the dark, he can see the way her eyebrows shoot up as her eyes go wide and she lets out this little incredulous laugh. "Are you shitting me? You're fucking with me right now." 

Feeling stupid isn't really something foreign to him, but his chest squeezes a little bit at Santana's question. It's not that he doesn't like sex and orgasms and well, hello, he's a guy, but he just…whatever. 

"Wow," Santana gapes, her hands still firm on his head. He chances a look at her boobs and for a second he gets distracted with how awesome they are, pushed together as her arms reach out. "You are such a  _girl_." 

He jerks back at that and gives her a disgusted look because he's pretty sure the pretty impressive boner he's rocking in between his thighs right now makes him very much not a girl. "I am not." 

"We're going to fuck," Santana states. "It's going to be hot and sweaty and awesome and it doesn't mean we're dating. It means that I like sex and you like sex and so we did something we like together." 

She takes a breath and rolls her eyes. "Either man up and  _fuck_  me or get the hell out so I can see if Puck or Brittany or  _somebody_  is finally free to take care of my needs." 

His stomach flips over at the mention of Puck, and the desire to not let his former best friend once again have something that could be his bubbles over inside of him and he cants his hips into Santana's with renewed focus. "I'm not a girl," he says lowly, leaning his face over hers. 

"Prove it," she whispers, wrapping a leg around his hip and rocking up into him. 

He kisses her and runs a hand up her side to palm her boob. When she inhales sharply and arches into his body, he smirks against her mouth. 

\--

He wakes up to a headache in the backs of his eyes and a tingly numbness in his right arm. When he turns his head he gets a mouthful of dark hair and the memory of last night bursts across his conscience. 

It was definitely better than the first time. Easily better. In fact, just thinking about it right now is totally turning him on. Well, that and the way Santana’s got a leg draped over his, her chest pressed up against his side and her breath is ghosting across his skin. 

He runs his palm up her back, her skin sleep warmed and soft, turning his head to check what time it is. There’s no clock on the bedside table, but he spots his cell phone lying there so he reaches out to grab it. 

Stretching to get his hand onto to the table, he gets his fingers around the small object when Santana stirs, waking up and squinting at him in momentary confusion. He smiles at her as she glares at him. 

“Morning,” he greets, clearing his throat and settling back. 

She stares at him for a moment longer before her expression clears and she rolls her eyes, pushing off him until she’s on her back next to him and he blissfully shakes his numb arm out. 

“What time is it?” 

Finn flips his cell phone on. “Ten.” 

“Wonderful,” Santana grumbles, pushing tangled hair out of her eyes. 

He runs a hand over his face and pinches the bridge of his nose against the slight headache still sitting there. “So...” 

“Nope,” Santana says, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She reaches over to grab her shirt and pulls it over her head, putting her hair up into a tangled bun after her shirt is settled. “Don’t even start. We had sex.” 

Finn glances around the room a little. “Yeah, I know. I was there.” 

She looks over her shoulder at him suspiciously. “You want to go get pancakes?” 

His stomach growls and he’s nodding before he can think about it. She laughs and pulls her pants on, standing up and looking at him expectantly. “Well then get up, retard.” 

He makes a move to leave the bed, but just as he’s about to pull the blankets off of him, he realizes that he’s naked and all of a sudden needs Santana not to be looking at him. Which is kind of stupid, he knows, but he can’t help it. Clutching the sheets at his waist, he just sort of stares at her, unsure. 

“Hudson,” she says lowly, snapping her fingers. “Get a move on.” 

“Can you like...” He swallows a little and looks away. “Turn around?” 

Her mouth drops open and she lets out a little raspy laugh. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you full frontal before.” 

“I know, just…” He feels really stupid. 

“Seriously, like. I’ve had intimate  _relations_  with your dick," she continues, laughing as she eyes him up and down. 

He doesn’t say anything because he knows she’s right, but he still kind of wants her to turn around and he’s end up just kind of stuck where he is. 

“Oh my God,” she gasps after a few seconds, still laughing. “You  _are_  a girl.” 

Blissfully, she does turn around, tapping her foot impatiently as he scrambles to grab his clothing from around the room. He’s fully dressed in seconds, his heart beating a little faster than normal. 

“You’re sure you’re ready?” Santana asks, mock concern all over her voice and face. “You want to put some makeup on before we go out or anything?”

His head hurts and he kind of still remembers the parts about last night that he hates - Rachel in the kitchen, Puck in the kitchen, Rachel with Puck - so he just loses it a little. “Fuck you.” 

Santana jerks back in her surprise, but her face looks kind of happy and she starts laughing again. “Well done, Sasquatch. You do have balls in there somewhere.” 

He thinks about saying something like  _well you would know_  or anything equally as crass, but he doesn’t get a chance because she’s grabbing her cell phone and walking out the door and down the hallway. He lumbers after her to catch up. 

They pass Puck on their way out, standing in just his pajama pants as he eats cereal in the kitchen. He watches them pass with an interested expression and Finn considers punching him again, but his head hurts and he doesn’t want to take the chance that Puck will hit him back. 

Santana, however, smacks her hand against the one Puck has outstretched towards her as they walk on by and laughs at him. 

“Feel free to figure your life out today, loser.” 

“Feel free to pull the stick out of your ass today, bitch,” Puck retorts. 

“I like it there, thank you very much,” Santana throws over her shoulder, pulling Finn by the shirtsleeve towards the door and away from Puck. 

“You would,” Puck shouts after her. 

She flips him off without looking and walks out the door, Finn left to wander behind her confused, as usual, about everything happening around him. 

They climb into Finn’s car and Santana plays with the radio as soon as he’s got the engine running, flipping through station after station until she’s satisfied. 

The only pancake house in Lima is about a ten minute drive from Puck’s house. They drive over in relative silence, the only sound in the car that of the radio. Finn sits in wonder that he’s here in his car, the morning after, with Santana Lopez next to him about to go eat pancakes. 

They finally get to their destination and Santana practically skips in to the door, getting them a booth and ordering about ten different kinds of pancakes for them to share. 

“You’re paying,” she mumbles around a mouthful of pumpkin flavored cakes. “Just so you know.” 

He nods because he’s learned that arguing with this girl is like signing a death sentence, but he’s a little confused as to why she’s still hanging out with him and eating with him and hasn’t insulted him since they left the house. 

Are they?  _No_. 

He asked her if last night meant anything and he’s pretty sure that her “we’re going to have sex” speech meant that the whole thing didn’t mean anything. It’s what he wanted anyway. Rebound sex. A way to get over Rachel. To get over Quinn. To get over his troubles with love. 

Except Santana’s saving him the last bite of blueberry pancakes and she’s laughing at some stupid joke he makes, and her foot hits his under the table, and this all feels suspiciously like a date. A weird backwards morning date in which he’s already had sex with the girl. 

Well, he supposes, if Santana were the dating type this is probably how it’d go. 

He drives her home, after paying of course, and she fiddles with his radio during the car ride like she owns the place so when she’s climbing out of his car in her driveway his mouth just sort of vomits words. 

“You want to hang out Tuesday?” 

She halts, one foot out the door and turns her head around to look at him. He gulps. 

“We are  _not_  dating,” she deadpans. 

He shakes his head and tries to backpedal. “Right, yeah, no, I mean.” 

Rolling her eyes, she steps out of the car, but pokes her head back in before shutting the door. “Thanks for the orgasm though.” She smirks and steps away. 

The door is halfway closed before she whips it back open and peers down at him again. “And the pancakes.” 

He watches her walk back up to her house, trying to decide if he’s happy or unhappy that she basically just rejected him. 

Two blocks later, after he finally drives away and decides it’s too hard to figure Santana out, his phone buzzes with a text. It’s Santana. 

 _party next sat. i’ll be there_. 

It’s not dating, but Finn thinks that for Santana it’s really as close as he’s going to get. 

Not that he wants to be dating her. 

Or something. 

Whatever. He just needs to get over Rachel. 

With Santana. Maybe.

Girls are confusing. 

 _two_

The tenth time they hook up it's at some party at Matt's - which is totally awesome because he doesn't get to see Matt that much unless it's at some shindig and the fact that he still throws parties for his old friends is just really cool. 

Santana is there, Brittany too because Finn's pretty sure they've never missed a party in the history of life. He leans against a far wall near the dance floor and can't keep his eyes off of Santana the entire time. They keep doing this - finding each other at parties and hooking up in an upstairs room.

The first time, Finn's smart enough to realize, was less about Santana and more about Rachel and Quinn and Puck and Finn's horrible luck with relationships. But by the third party and the third hookup, it starts to become about Santana, the way she smiles at him when she's dancing with Brittany, the way her hips move as she mixes a drink in the kitchen, the way her fingers feel as the scratch down his chest and she pulls him towards a bedroom, bathroom, any spare room they can find. 

It becomes a ritual that Finn actually looks forward to and he's starting to think that the whole thing means something way more than Santana will ever let on. 

Rachel walks across the room and plops next to Puck, a red plastic cup in one hand and this smile on her face just for Puck, but Finn barely notices because Santana's pressed up against Brittany, hair down and face flushed and she's staring right at Finn. 

This has become a ritual too. The part where Santana dances with everyone, but him. The part where she rubs up against Brittany like they’re about to get down and Finn feels like he’s watching late night television again, except it’s live and right in front of him, and he knows exactly what Santana feels like, what her hair smells like, what her skin tastes like and what she looks like when she comes. 

Brittany’s got her fingers around the neck of a bottle of tequila as she sways around the dance floor, periodically tipping it against her lips as Santana watches her skeptically. Finn might think it odd if he could process anything other than they way Santana’s hips are moving. 

Eventually, Brittany throws her arms around Santana’s neck in a tight embrace before jumping away, shouting Mike’s name, and bouncing off to the kitchen. Alone on the dance floor, Santana’s gaze lingers on her friend’s retreating form before she twirls to lock eyes with Finn, her expression conveying the message pretty clearly. 

It takes less than ten seconds for Finn to bolt off the couch and head towards the stairs, Santana hot on his heels as they make their way upward. The wall in the upstairs hallway is hard against his back as she shoves him against it and kisses him hard. 

Arousal swirls around in his stomach along with liquor and happiness and that little bit of surprise that always lingers there whenever Santana picks  _him_. She’s got her lips on his for less than five seconds and he’s already half hard, his hands gripping at her hips

They never actually make it to the guest bedroom down the hall like they mean to. Santana pulls lightly on his bottom lip with her teeth and his fingers dig into the skin at her hips and there is no way he wants to move right now unless it’s closer to her. 

He’s not sure how much time passes, but just as his hand is sliding up the back of Santana’s shirt, her skin hot under his palm, Mike interrupts them with heavy footsteps. 

“Santana,” he gasps. 

She pulls away from Finn and pushes off of him, glaring at Mike for the interruption and that spikes a little pride up inside him. “What?” Santana bites out. 

“Brittany’s sick,” Mike explains, throwing Finn a small apologetic smile. “She’s asking for you.” 

Santana’s expression shifts in an instant to almost unrecognizable concern before she’s walking briskly past Mike and back down the stairs. 

“Downstairs bathroom,” Mike tells him as Finn moves to follow Santana downstairs. 

\--

He catches up to Santana as she’s pushing her way inside the bathroom to find Brittany, head hung over the white toilet bowl there and groaning. Finn does not envy her. 

“Hey, baby,” Santana murmurs softly as she kneels down next to her friend and runs a comforting hand down her back. “How you doing?”

Brittany doesn’t answer, just moans again, but she tilts her head a little to acknowledge Santana. 

“How about we go home?” Santana offers. 

Brittany shakes her head. 

Finn shifts around a little bit, unsure of his place right now, but wanting to help nonetheless. Santana turns, a flicker of surprise running across her face when she sees him. 

“I can go get some water,” he says to her, shrugging. 

She purses her lips like she can’t decide if she really wants his help or not, and he kind of expects her to refuse. Santana Lopez isn’t really one to accept help from anyone, even for someone else’s sake. 

Brittany groans again and Santana’s head snaps back to her friend, her fingers tangling in blonde hair to pull it up and away from Brittany’s face. “Yeah, water,” she says without looking at Finn. 

He’s halfway out the door when he hears a soft, “Thanks,” punctuate the sentence. He smiles the whole way to the kitchen. 

\--

They sit in the bathroom with Brittany for another fifteen minutes while she empties her stomach into the porcelain bowl in front of her, and despite the sound of retching totally grossing him out, Finn’s kind of happy that Santana’s letting him stay. For whatever reason, the insignificant moment feels overwhelmingly significant. 

Eventually, Santana convinces Brittany that she can make it home, but the tall girl can barely move. Santana stands and moves her gaze between Finn and Brittany for a few minutes, her brows pulled together and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. 

“Can you,” she starts after a minute. “Can you carry her?” 

She doesn’t look at Finn, but he’s the only other person in the room so he jumps off the counter he was sitting on and walks towards Brittany. “No problem,” he says, kneeling next to the toilet. 

Santana kneels down too and runs her hand over Brittany’s forehead, pushing hair out of the way. “Britt, Finn’s gonna carry you to the car, okay?” 

Brittany hums lowly and Santana seems to take that as agreement, standing and gesturing for Finn to pick her friend up. 

He gets his arms around the blonde, exhaling sharply as he stands up with her, her head lolling against his chest. She looks up to him and opens up bleary, blue eyes. “Thanks, Finn,” she whispers. 

Santana rolls her eyes and turns around. “Let’s go. Thank God her parents are gone this weekend.” 

\--

Getting Brittany in and out of Finn’s car and into Brittany’s house is an experience he’ll probably never forget, but they manage to do it and soon enough he’s laying Brittany down in her bed and shaking his aching arms out. 

“Thanks,” Santana mumbles for the second time that night. He smiles and steps away. 

Santana sits down on the bed next to her friend and strokes blonde hair off her forehead, smiling softly. “You idiot,” she mutters, chuckling a little. “I told you you can’t handle tequila.” 

Finn suddenly feels like he really shouldn’t be there anymore. The moment feels private and intimate, and Santana’s acting like a person he’s never known before. Her face is all soft and she’s touching Brittany slowly, smiling down at her and if ever he doubted that Santana Lopez has feelings, he was so wrong. 

Brittany mumbles something, licking her lips and turning her head on the pillow towards Santana. Finn can almost feel the wicked hangover the blonde is going to have in the morning. 

“I can stay,” Finn offers. “With you I mean.” Taking care of drunk friends is actually something Finn has some experience is and the morning after can be just as challenging as the night before. 

Santana jerks towards him as if she just remembered he was there and stares at him for a moment, her expression blank. “You don’t have to do that.” 

Finn shrugs. “I know.” 

“We’re not having sex,” she continues, looking at him confused. 

“Yeah I know,” he laughs. “I just thought you might want someone else around is all.”

She considers that, her brow furrowed. “Sure,” she says finally, under her breath.

Standing, Santana smoothes her hands over her thighs and looks around the room before walking up to a small cabinet against one wall. She opens it and pulls out a quilt and some pillows. 

“We should stay in here,” she says softly. “You know. In case she needs something.” 

Finn nods. “Yeah, okay.” 

Santana finds a change of clothes in Brittany’s closet and pulls them on as Finn spreads out the quilt and pillow onto the floor. When she comes back in the room, her face is washed clean and her hair is pulled back loosely, and Finn thinks she looks so different, but still just as attractive. 

She wrings her hands together as she observes his setup on the floor. “You really don’t have to stay,” she says. “I don’t  _need_  you.” 

It stings. Just a little bit, but he knows it’s the truth. Santana doesn’t really need anyone. Brittany shifts on the bed and lets out a little noise. 

“I know,” he says. Brittany’s his friend too and she’s always been nice to him and it feels good to be there for another friend, two friends really. Even if neither of them actually asked for his help. 

She rolls her eyes at him. “Whatever. Enjoy the floor.” 

“Goodnight,” he says, about to lie down as she makes her way to the bed. She stops halfway there and twirls, walking back towards him. 

Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt she pulls him down hard and kiss him all the heat from earlier at the party shooting straight back into him. Her hand slides to the back of his neck and scratches at the hair there as her tongue finds its way into his mouth and he nearly stumbles forward. 

“Thanks,” she whispers against his lips as she pulls away. 

She’s sliding into bed next to Brittany before he can say anything else. 

It takes him a little longer than normal to fall asleep that night and it has nothing to do with the hard floor under his back or the way Brittany takes to snoring like a freight train later that night. 

\--

In the morning, Brittany actually wakes up before them and completely unfairly has almost no hangover besides a bad case of cottonmouth and a small headache. 

Finn makes them pancakes in Brittany’s huge kitchen and Brittany looks between them with this ridiculous smile on her face as she swirls her fork in her syrup and locks her foot around Santana’s leg. 

“So are you guys like,  _dating_  now?” 

Santana chokes on her orange juice and Finn’s eyes go wide, a spatula in one hand as he hovers over the stove. “No,” Santana answers vehemently once she stops coughing. 

Brittany’s smile never wavers through and she runs her toes up Santana’s calf, which Finn thinks is the weirdest thing, but he’s never really understood girls. “Sure,” Brittany says, smirking at Finn. 

“Britt,” Santana says, clear warning in the name. Finn thinks it’s so weird to see this Santana in the light of day after the one he spent time with last night. 

Brittany shakes her head and laughs, forking some more pancakes and chewing, smiling at Santana the whole time. 

Santana kicks out against the leg near hers, her face obviously disgruntled. 

“Ow,” Brittany complains, but her face is still happy. “Don’t hit the sick person.” 

“You’re not sick you’re hung over.” 

“Same thing. Don’t be mean.” 

“Stop it,” Santana orders and if any other person were on the receiving end, Finn’s sure they’d be cowering at Santana right now. But Brittany’s never one to be afraid of Santana. Ever. 

Brittany tilts her head innocently to the side and blinks at Santana like she has no idea what she’s referring to. Come to think of it,  _Finn_ has no idea what the two of them are talking about. “Stop what?” 

“You know what.” 

Brittany glances at Finn and bursts into another round of giggles. 

“I hate you,” Santana hisses towards her friend. 

“No you don’t,” Brittany argues, still chuckling. 

Santana bristles, leaning back into her chair and crossing her arms as she glares at her best friend. Eventually she looks to where Finn is standing, still unmoving near the stove. 

Her glare gets impossibly narrower as she looks at him. “Stop staring and make my pancakes,” she commands. 

Jerking back into action, Finn moves back over the stove and flips the near-burning hotcake in the pan as Brittany laughs even louder behind him. 

He thinks he hears her whisper something like  _you’re definitely dating_ , but he’s really never been any good at understanding girls. 

 _three_

Finn's pretty sure that if you take a girl out to dinner and you  _pay_  that it's a date, but apparently Santana changed the rules on him when he wasn't looking. Because despite the fact that they're at BreadstiX and she's pushing the check in his direction, she's adamantly refusing to admit that it's a date. 

It kinda sucks too because she's wearing these jeans that make her ass look awesome and the shirt she's wearing makes her boobs stick out and he was kind of hoping that this was a date so he could kiss her at the end of the night. 

But whatever, he pays anyway and stares at that spot of skin revealed between the back of her shirt and jeans when she moves out of the booth, but he has to stop himself from wrapping his arm across her waist as they walk. He's pretty sure she'd hit him. Hard. And it's fine because she's nice to look at and when she's not insulting him or anyone else in their entire grade she's actually kind of cool. He likes that sometimes she doesn't say anything and they just sit there and it's not completely awkward. 

It's kind of chilly outside and he considers offering Santana his shirt or something because the girl has on this shirt that he's pretty positive doesn't keep her that warm, but she's walking about two steps ahead of him and he's pretty sure she'd refuse anyway. So he twirls his keys on his finger as they walk to the car and hums some song he heard on the radio last week under his breath. 

Santana stops near the driver’s side door and Finn nearly runs into her, but he manages to stay on his feet and takes a step back when she twirls to look up at him. 

Biting her lip and seeming uncharacteristically unsure of herself, she looks up at him through her lashes. Finn considers putting his hand on her arm the way he’d normally do, but he reminds himself that they’re not dating and that’s a boyfriend gesture, not a fuck buddy gesture. Sometimes it’s really hard keeping the rules straight. 

“Do you want to come over?” 

“To like, your house?” 

The uncertainty on Santana’s face shifts to exasperation and Finn feels something uncoil in the pit of his stomach. “Yes, my house. Seriously, were you dropped as a child?” 

“No,” he answers honestly. At least, he doesn’t think he was. 

“Drive to my house,” she orders, walking around the car and getting in. 

He shrugs and does as she says. Things tend to turn out better when he does this. 

\--

Her parents are nowhere to be seen when they walk into the house so he asks Santana about it. 

“They’re gone for the weekend.” 

“What for?” Finn eyes the family pictures on the wall, his mouth quirking up a little at a picture of Santana as a kid, dressed up in a ladybug costume. 

“Just are,” Santana sighs. “Can we not do the thing were we talk?” 

“What do you want to do?” 

Santana stares at him like he’s a moron - which is becoming her most-used expression these days - as she walks backwards into her living room. “That’s a serious question?” 

Finn shrugs. “I think they’re playing a Law and Order marathon on tonight.” 

Santana laughs. “They’re  _always_  playing a Law and Order marathon.” 

“I know,” Finn says, smiling brightly. “It’s so awesome.” 

Santana’s jaw is dropped open in mid-laugh like she can’t believe what he’s saying right now or something and she stops near her couch, hands on her hips as she looks him up and down. “Wow.” 

“What?” Finn shifts his shoulders, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. 

Shaking her head, Santana puts her hands under the hem of her shirt and pulls it off her chest, reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra before the fabric hits the floor. “We’re going to fuck,” Santana states. “You bought me dinner and now we’re going to have sex.” 

Finn puts his eyes to the floor to avoid staring straight at Santana’s boobs and blinks against the way his heart beat is speeding up. “We’re not at a party.” 

“Yeah, genius. I noticed,” Santana says. 

Finn looks around the room, anywhere but the lady boobs on display right in front of him. “So is this like a date?” 

“What?” The question is hard and biting and Finn hates that he opened his mouth, but really he just wants to know what is going on between them. He paid for dinner. They’re apparently going to have sex. They  _keep_  having sex. This feels like dating. 

“Well I mean,” Finn starts, picking at the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, “I bought you pasta and now we’re going to fool around it kind of feels like a date to me.” 

“We are  _not_  dating,” Santana states and Finn’s kind of getting tired of hearing her say that. 

“Yeah, I know, except I kind of think we are.” 

“You’re here because I was hungry for bread sticks and because you’re shockingly good at getting me off, despite some clear mental deficiencies that should make you a limp fish in the sack.” 

Finn’s brow scrunches up. “Huh?” 

“Whatever,” Santana says, picking up her shirt. “If you don’t want to have sex then fine, but can you find the door and vacate please? Because I have needs and there are about five hundred people in line to fill them.” 

The idea of her having sex with someone else makes him irrationally jealous. He likes the arrangement they have and even though she insists that they’re not dating, he knows she’s not sleeping with anyone else right now. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

Rolling her eyes, she shrugs her shirt back on and Finn nearly pouts. Sure, he was trying not to look at them, but her boobs are  _awesome_ and he’s kind of sad now that she put them away. She makes a move towards him like she’s leaving and is about to force him out the door, but there’s something in him that really doesn’t want to leave even if they’re not dating and he’s not supposed to like just being around her or whatever. He can’t help it. He just wants to stay. 

“We can have sex!” His hands are outstretched in a  _stop!_ kind of gesture and his eyes are wide. 

She looks at him for a minute, just stares before bursting out into laughter. Shaking her head at him, but still laughing, she grabs him by the shirt just like she always seems to do and pulls him around to her couch, pushing him onto it and settling in next to him, grabbing the remote. 

The TV clicks on and she flips through the channels until she settles on the familiar scene of a Law and Order episode Finn has seen about forty times. “Oooh, I love this episode!” he says, leaning forward a little, the prospect of sex pushed to the back of his brain. 

Santana’s still sort of laughing next to him, pressed close into his side as she chucks the remote towards the other end of the couch and settles into the cushions. The title screen starts to play and Finn leans back in next to her. It’s warm and comfortable and he’s afraid he could way too used to this. 

They watch three hours of television, all episodes each of them had seen before, and Finn thinks it’s the longest he’s been around Santana without fooling around, eating or talking about fooling around. 

When the fourth episode comes onto the screen and the familiar sound of the theme song plays in the room for the fourth time that night, Santana slides her hand up Finn’s thigh and scratches the seam of his jeans lightly. Suddenly, the television becomes a lot less interesting. Turning to look at her, Finn swallows dryly and licks his lips. 

Before he can even say anything, Santana’s hand is hooked around his neck and their lips are pressed together tightly, her other hand pressed against his chest right over his heart. 

He fucks her on the couch with the low  _dum dum_  sound of Law and Order in the background and when she comes it’s wide eyed and gasping, his fingers on her clit and his other hand in her hair and she’s  _gorgeous_. 

They fall asleep there after, in the hazy lassitude of a good orgasm. The television is still on and Santana is sprawled over his chest and when he wakes up, hours later and Law and Order is still playing on the screen he smiles a little and pulls her closer. She mumbles something he can’t quite make out and presses her cheek into his bare chest. 

His stomach flips over and he can’t help it. This definitely feels like dating. 

He hates that when she wakes up she’ll push off him and they’ll go get pancakes and he’ll smile at her when she stuffs her face with whatever special kind they have that month, but at the end of it all she’ll remind him how he can have her, but doesn’t actually  _have_  her. It’s like looking forward to Christmas, but knowing you’re not getting any presents. 

He hates that it bothers him. He hates it more that it doesn’t bother her.

 

 _four_

Finn didn't think life could get much better than that time he discovered the multiple uses of the George Foreman grill and successfully created a new food invention involving chicken, cheese and chocolate, but he was wrong. 

He was so so wrong, but if someone told him a few months ago that some day he'd be playing Halo in his living room while getting the best blow job of his  _life_  from one of the hottest girls in school, he would have laughed. 

He is so glad he faked sick this weekend and stayed home while Kurt, Burt and his mom went to New York to look at schools. Seriously. Missing this would have been one of the biggest mistakes of his life. 

Shifting a little on his couch, he tries to blink his eyes into focus on the screen because he's getting his ass kicked, but Santana's making these ridiculously hot noises as she runs her tongue over the tip of his cock and his eyes threaten to roll back into his head. 

She pumps her fist up and down and Finn can't stop his hips from shooting up off the couch as his fingers hit the wrong button on his controller and the sounds of his character dying resound through the room. 

Looking down to the hot girl kneeling between his legs, he loses control of his breathing a little. Santana's shaking her head at him disapprovingly, but her grip is still tight on his dick and he's practically shaking with the desire to thrust up again. She smiles at him like she knows exactly how hot he is right now - which, when he thinks about it, is probably true because she’s pretty much got proof of exactly how  _hard_  this whole scenario is for him. 

“Focus on the game,” she orders, squeezing her fist a little and smirking up at him. 

“Can’t,” he gasps, blowing out a breath as Santana runs her tongue up his length again. 

“Try harder,” she murmurs. “I will stop if you stop.” 

He blinks his eyes at his screen and takes a deep breath to focus. Clicking the right button on his controller starts the game up again and he tries to pay attention to what he’s supposed to be doing in the game and not the fact that he’s literally seconds from blowing his load. Which is just super embarrassing. 

He’s not as bad as he used to be, months and months ago when all a girl had to do was kiss him and he was about ready to come in his pants, but Santana seems to enjoy pushing the limits of any kind of stamina he’s since gained, and right now he feels just as much out of control as he did when he was still a fumbling virgin. 

The game restarts on his TV, but his finger slips on the analog stick before he can move his character. Santana’s head bobs down sharply and he can’t stop his hips from moving forward at the sensation, the breath shooting out of his lungs. His head falls back against his couch, the controller going slack in his hands. 

He groans when Santana lifts her head away and smirks at him. “These rules are pretty simple, Hudson.” 

Shaking his head a little, he grips the controller harder and manages a half smile at Santana, trying to show that he’s willing to do just about anything she wants if it means she won’t stop. “Don’t stop,” he instructs, his voice barely a whisper. “Please.” 

Laughing a little at his pain, the way only Santana Lopez can do, she smirks, raising an eyebrow at the controller clutched in his hands. He didn’t think it was possible to hate and love someone at the same time, but clearly it is. 

Focusing on his game again, he blinks slowly, swallows and gets his fingers to move, pressing the buttons one after the other and relying solely on memory muscle to keep his character moving and shooting. He’s stuck between wanting this to be over and never wanting it to end. 

Blissfully, it’s not much longer before Santana’s head moves faster, her lips sucking in hard and his stomach tightening sharply. He barely has time to warn her before his hips jut up a bit as he comes in her mouth, his character dying in the blaze of a frag grenade on the TV behind her. 

He half expects her to be a little pissed that he just blew in her mouth without telling her, but she just pops off his dick and smirks at him, swallowing noticeably and flicking her nail against the corner of her mouth. Damn if that isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever seen her done. 

Sucking breath into his lungs, he smiles at her a little, sagging back into his couch and letting the controller fall to the side. “Thanks,” he gets out between gasps. 

She laughs, standing up and slapping him companionably on his bare thigh. “Move over,” she orders, twisting around and plopping down next to him when he manages to comply with her instructions. 

Reaching over his body, she grabs his discarded controller, curling her legs up underneath her and focusing on his TV. He watches her restart the game with confusion. 

“Don’t you want me to...” He gestures between them hoping she gets the picture. 

Arching an eyebrow, Santana scoffs a little, but doesn’t take her eyes off the game. “I’m fine,” she says. “But go get me food and your other controller.” 

His brow furrows and he tries to get his mind, still a little hazy from orgasm, to navigate what’s going on. Santana’s not really a giver without being a taker too, and he can’t really figure out what exactly she’s getting out of this if he’s not going to make her come. So instead of getting up (not that he could with how shaky his legs feel), he just sits there staring at her as she mashes the buttons on his controller. 

“Get a move on, Sasquatch,” she says, glancing at him. 

“Uh...” 

“Finn!” Santana barks, laughing as she says it. “Go get me food so I don’t have to kick your ass at this on an empty stomach.” 

Eyes widening, he makes a move to stand, having to grab at the couch in order not to fall over. He grabs his boxers and practically trips into them as he makes his way towards the kitchen. He hears her laughing at him the entire way there, but something about it just warms his stomach instead of annoying him. He finds himself smiling like an idiot as he grabs a box of pancake mix out of the cabinet. 

\--

They play Halo the rest of the afternoon, Finn in his underwear and Santana yelling obscenities at him the entire time. It turns out that she’s not half bad at video games. In fact, she’s actually kind of  _good_. 

Later that night, when she actually  _stays over_  instead of leaving and they  _still_  don’t have sex, he realizes that it’s the most fun he’s had with practically anyone in the longest time. The only thing that bothers him, the only thing that keeps him awake, is the way she curls into him, this content look on her face and the disheartening knowledge that the whole day was probably a fluke. 

 _five_

Santana meets his mom and his, well,  _Kurt's_  dad, completely accidentally. 

She comes over on a Sunday morning because, according to her, they have some sort of standing occasion. She claims it has something to do with needing a weekly dose of sex and that he's convenient and that Kurt, his mom and Burt are all out of the house, so it works out. But he can't help but notice the way she smirks at him when he opens the door, a little softer than her normal grin, and the way she curls up to him after they do it instead of bolting as soon as he rolls off like she used to. 

He’s barely awake when she shows up because he stayed up until three the night before trying to beat the latest Call of Duty game (he was successful so it was totally worth it). Sun shoots straight into his eyes when he swings the door open so he squints and grimaces, bringing his hand up to shade his eyes as he feels Santana push his way past him, laughing. 

“Morning,” she jokes because it’s nearly noon. 

“Hi,” he croaks, clearing his throat and closing the door so he can open his eyes and actually see things. 

He’s happy he does because Santana’s wearing this skirt that makes the sleep shoot right out of him. She knows it too because she’s smirking at him as she walks backwards and crooks a finger in his direction. 

“You want some breakfast?” Finn takes a few steps towards her and eyes the kitchen, wondering what food they’ve got stored in there. 

“It’s practically noon,” she laughs. 

“I just woke up,” he counters. 

She gets her hand in his shirt, just above the waistband of his pajama pants and pulls him towards her. “After,” she whispers, stepping up on her toes to kiss him. He’s really glad he managed to brush his teeth before he answered the door. 

They trade soft, lazy kisses as Santana walks them back towards the basement door. Kicking the door all the way open, Finn puts a hand under her butt and lifts her up until her legs are wrapped around his waist and he walks them downstairs. Many Sundays of experience means he doesn’t trip and drop her like he almost did the first few times. 

They manage to make it down to the room he shares with Kurt and he spreads her out on the bed, his palm running up the outside of her thigh and up under the skirt she’s wearing. She smiles against his mouth and breaks apart to pull his shirt off over his head, her nails scratching against his scalp in a way that almost makes him want to cuddle into her neck and fall back asleep. 

But then her hand is travelling down his stomach and under the waistband of his pants and yeah, never mind, sleep is not really on the agenda. 

When he’s inside her, her legs hooked around his hips and her hands in his hair, he moves slowly, eyes focused on her face. It’s been like that more and more lately. Less like the fervent coupling of their first hookup at parties and more intense, slower, and when she comes she gets this look like she can’t believe it happened. 

She falls apart with a soft cry, her fingers tightening against his head and her legs squeezing his hips. He doesn’t last long after, gasping for breath and rolling off her when he’s done. They lie there for a long while until his heartbeat has slowed down and he thinks he might actually fall asleep again. 

He’s barely got his eyes closed, about to turn over and curl around her body when she sits up in bed and smacks him. “Make me pancakes,” she orders, grabbing his shirt from where she threw it earlier. 

Pushing up onto his elbows, he watches her pull her panties back on, her body practically swimming in his grey McKinley football shirt. He can’t help the way that the sight of her in his clothes, her hair in this super hot mess and her face still flushed a little, makes him want to do things that involve  _not_  leaving this bed. 

But she throws his pants at him and props her hands on her hips and he knows she’s about to yell at him, so he pulls them on and follows her up to the kitchen. 

\--

He should have been watching the time, honestly, but Santana’s in his kitchen, in his shirt, eating pancakes that he made her and licking syrup off of her thumb, and he can’t be responsible for remembering anything but the way it feels to be inside her right now. 

Which is why he almost lets out a very unmanly scream when his mother and Burt walk into the kitchen. Santana jumps in her seat and twirls, her eyes bouncing wide-eyed between all three of them. 

“Finn?” His mother says, surprise in her voice as she takes in his shirt over Santana’s shoulders and the way he’s standing next to her in just his pants. 

“Uh, this is not what it looks like,” he stammers. 

“What does this look like?” Burt chimes in, this weird almost proud smile on his face. 

Finn opens his mouth and then closes it, trying to find the words to explain this to his mother, but nothing seems to come out. Thank God Santana speaks up. 

“Santana,” she says, standing up and stretching her hand out. Her voice is confident and almost threatening like she’s daring them to even think about scolding her. It’s so out of context from the way she looks, barely dressed and barefoot. “I’m Finn’s girlfriend.” 

All three people in the room, Finn included, gape at her. 

Burt recovers first. “Nice to meet you Santana,” he says, shaking her hand. “Sorry to say that Finn hasn’t really talked much about you.” 

Santana smirks at Burt and winks and Finn seriously has been confused most of his life, but this moment is kind of taking the cake as far as not knowing what the hell is going on. “We’re kind of on the down low. You know how it is.” 

Burt laughs, but his mom just sort of looks her up and down before turning to Finn like she can’t decide if she’s happy that Finn’s dating again or totally appalled that they’re clearly having sex in her house while she’s not there. 

After a few moments of just awkward silence in which his mom just stares open mouthed at them, Burt takes the initiative and grabs her by the arm, pulling her out of the kitchen. Finn kind of loves Kurt’s dad right now. 

“You kids be careful,” he shouts over his shoulder. 

They leave them alone and Santana retreats back to her chair, picking up her fork and eating more of her pancakes like she didn’t totally just admit to something he’s been waiting months for her to admit. 

He leans across the counter and stares at her curiously. “So we’re dating right now?” 

She gives him a disgusted look and sets her fork back down, picking up her orange juice and taking a long drink. 

“I’m sorry, did you want me to introduce myself to your parents as just the girl you’re fucking these days.” 

His eyes go wide. “No.” 

“Yeah,” Santana says. “Exactly.” 

“But I mean,” Finn starts, pointing towards where his mom just left and gaping. 

“Shut up and make me more pancakes.” 

“Santana,” he growls. He’s really sick of this whole thing. 

“Finn,” she says sharply and it’s then that he realizes it’s the most he’s ever heard her use his full name in his entire life. “Stop over analyzing everything.” 

“I’m not, it’s just—” 

“No,” she interrupts. “We are what we are and that’s that. I, for one, like it. I thought you did too.” 

She stands up and walks towards him. When she kisses him her lips taste like syrup and juice and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to eat pancakes without thinking of her. “Stop trying to ruin everything,” she mumbles. 

He clutches her hips and pulls her into him, kissing her back and trying to ignore the idea that maybe ruining it is  _exactly_  what he wants to do. 

 _six_

Spring of senior year is really stressful. He's graduating soon and he’s worried about leaving, and he can't decide if he wants to play football or basketball, and his mom is totally freaking out about his leaving in a few months. She keeps hugging him like all the time and crying out of nowhere and insisting they spend all this time together which is  _awesome_  except he kind of wants to spend some time with his friends too. 

Which is why when Sam texts him about some party they're having and that he totally should come, he doesn't even tell his mom as he bolts out the door to his car. On the way over he calls Santana without even thinking about it because he constantly forgets that they're not dating and he feels like he should call his not-girlfriend or whatever. He kind of wants to spend time with her too. 

She answers with this breathy hello that makes Finn really want to know what she's doing, but then he thinks about he's not so sure he actually does. Then the thought of her having sex with some other dude almost makes him run into a street sign so he pulls over. Which is ridiculous because this is Santana Lopez and they are  _not_  dating. 

"Hello?" She repeats her greeting because he got so distracted with it the first time that he didn't say anything, but he's able to calm himself and try and play it cool.

"Hey," he says, pressing his back into the seat of his car and looking out his window. 

"Hi," she says, her voice uncharacteristically soft and casual. He loves it when she sounds like that. It makes him thinks about all kinds of things he probably shouldn't like what it'd be like to wake up next to her every morning. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Packing," she answers, grunting a little. He can almost imagine her moving stuff around her room, phone caught between her ear and her shoulder. 

"For what?" 

"Britt and I are visiting OSU next weekend." 

"Oh, right," he says like he knew that already. Except he didn't because they're  _not_  dating and she doesn't have to tell him stuff like that because she's  _not_  his girlfriend. 

She sighs. "Why are you calling me?" 

And there's the Santana Lopez he knows and loves. Er, well, not  _loves_. He's not in love with her or anything. Whatever. It's just an expression. 

"Party tonight. At Sam's. Wanted to see if you were going." 

There's a pause and he can just barely hear Santana breathing, the sound of movement halting and in the back of his head he sees her biting her lip in indecision, her eyes darting around the room as she tries to decide how to answer him. He can almost hear the insult she's about to shoot his way, the one where she reminds him for about the thousandth time that they're not dating and that if she wants to go to a party she doesn't need the Green Giant as an escort, but then she finally responds and all Finn's reminded of is how bad he is at understanding girls. 

"I don't feel like a party. Come over." 

She hangs up and Finn is left listening to his dial tone and blinking slowly in surprise at her last words. It takes him a full minute before he finally puts his body into motion, putting his phone back in his pocket and turning his car around in the direction of Santana's house. 

\--

She answers the door in sweatpants and a tank top, her hair down around her face, and pulls him inside by the shirt. He goes with the tug because he kind of likes the way Santana manhandles him around sometimes. There’s something sexy about how bossy she gets, the way she just grabs him and moves him or tells him what she wants in bed. It’s a different kind of bossy than he’s used to with girls. 

She pulls him all the way to her bedroom. A suitcase is open on the floor near her closet and clothes are strewn all over the room. She pushes him onto the bed and he half expects her to climb on top of him and pull her shirt off. That’s the routine. 

But apparently the routine is changing because she turns away from him and starts picking up clothes, throwing some of them towards her suitcase and others towards her closet. “Sorry,” she says absently. “I have to finish packing.” 

"You want any help?" Maybe this is why she told him to come over. He's having a hard time figuring out why she'd want him over if they're not going to have sex. 

“No, just hang out a second,” she mutters, throwing more random items into her suitcase as she buzzes around the room. 

It takes her a few more minutes, but eventually she’s zipping up her suitcase and pushing it towards her door. 

“I didn’t know you were thinking about going to OSU,” he says, gesturing at her suitcase. 

“I know,” she replies, turning to look at him. 

“Have you applied yet?” It was one of the first schools he applied to. He can still see the way his mother lit up when the acceptance letter came in the mail. He can’t play football there, or well, he probably can’t, but it’s a good school and it’s close to home. 

“I got in a month ago,” she answers, eyes avoiding him. “Brittany too.” 

He shoots up off the bed. “ _What?_ ” 

“I said I got in,” she grumbles. “Are you deaf?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Her faces scrunches up in displeasure. “Slipped my mind. I don’t know. I just didn’t.” 

“You know I’m going there, right?” 

She shrugs. 

“Dude,” he breathes. 

“What?” She moves to sit next to him on the bed. 

“This is  _awesome_ ,” he says. 

He was sad about leaving her. Really, really, sad. Yeah they’re not together like they totally should be, but at least they can be not-together together at the same school or something. Whatever. It makes sense in his head. Her going to OSU means he can still see her on days that aren’t breaks and holidays and random reunion parties. 

She turns to look at him, the displeasure from earlier erased from her face and replaced by this open honesty he’s really not used to seeing on her. “Is it?” 

Her tone gives him pause and something tightens in his chest as her expression registers. For the first time, Finn looks at her. Just  _really_ looks at her. He thinks back to all their memories together, to the half-drunken hookups and the lazy, sober sex on her couch and to all the times they were together and all they did was be together, and he decides something right then and there, because she’s going to college with him and some things just need to be. 

“We’re dating,” he states. “You’re dating me. I’m dating you.” 

She jerks back and opens her mouth to say something, but he cuts her off without fear. He’s on a roll now and maybe he’ll regret this bravado later, but he can’t stop. “No,” he says. “We’re dating. You’re coming to college with me and you’re going to be my girlfriend and that’s just that.” 

He takes a deep breath. “I want to date you. Like, so much. You’re so awesome and super hot, and you like my pancakes, and you totally kick my ass at Halo, and we just  _need_  to stop kidding ourselves.” 

Santana quirks an eyebrow up at that. “Are you done?” 

Finn shakes his head. “ _No_. I know that you’re not really up on the whole dating thing and relationships and whatever, but college is going to be different. I don’t want you seeing other dudes. I think I might be in love with you or something like that, maybe, and I want us to be dating and at college, and I won’t take no for an answer.” 

Her mouth drops open, but her eyebrow stays arched above her eye. “Are you done  _now_?” 

“Yes,” he says, nodding a little. “Unless that wasn’t convincing enough.” 

“You’re a moron,” she says, but she’s smiling at him in this way that makes something flip over in his stomach. 

“I know,” he says, laughing. “It’s part of my charm.” 

She tilts her head to the side, hair falling over her shoulder as her lips quirk up. “You know. It kind of is.” 

He looks around a little, worry creeping up. “Is that a yes?” 

“Will you make me pancakes in college?” 

He lets out a long breath. “Every day,” he whispers, scooting closer to her. 

“Then fine, whatever, sure. We can date.” 

“Really?” 

“Whatever, don’t make a big deal of it,” she says, rolling her eyes and falling backwards on the bed. 

“It is a big deal,” he lets out, still kind of disbelieving that she agreed. 

“No,” Santana argues, shaking her head at her ceiling. 

“Yeah,” Finn intones, his voice deep and serious. “It is.” 

“I hate you,” Santana says, but she’s laughing and all it does is make Finn smile. 

He turns on his side, moving down to lie down next to her and hovers his face over hers, still smiling. 

Santana looks up at him, this feigned disgust on her face that Finn’s coming to love. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m going to kiss my girlfriend,” he whispers. 

Rolling her eyes again, she makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Don’t be gross.” 

He kisses her before she can say anything else, his stomach flipping over at the feel of her smile pressed against his lips. Her hands grip his hair and keep them pressed together as he rolls more fully on top of her, her chest arching up into his. 

The make out on her bed for a long while and Finn finally feels like something once restless settles inside him. Santana tugs him closer and he finally feels like things are going his way. 

\--

Two years later, in the house Finn shares with two roommates off campus, Santana walks into the living room, bleary-eyed from sleep and scratching against the fabric of Finn’s high school football jersey where it rests against her stomach. 

He’s already there, playing his morning round of Call of Duty with Puck. The sound of his friend’s trash-talk is tinny through the headset in his ear. He smiles when he sees Santana and accidentally runs his character off a cliff, distracted from the game by the girl in front of him. 

There’s no  _good morning_  or  _how’d you sleep_. She just walks over to the couch, plucks the headset out of his ear and transfers it to hers. Grabbing the controller from him, she hip checks him to the side and takes his seat, squinting at the TV to see what he’s playing. 

He laughs and stands, shaking his head at the  _shut your whore mouth, Puckerman_  that she grumbles through the microphone near her mouth. The scene is nothing new to him, but Finn can’t help but stand there for a minute, taking it in. 

Santana notices and arches an eyebrow in his direction, glancing at him briefly with still-sleepy eyes. “Pancakes, Hudson,” she orders. 

Smiling all the way to kitchen, Finn listens to the now-familiar sounds of Santana throwing Puck’s trash talk right back at him. It’s not how he thought his life would turn out, but with a box of pancake mix in one hand and his girlfriend in the other room, he knows he wouldn’t change a thing.

  
  
  



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